


with stars in our eyes

by sincerelyreidburke (poindextears)



Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [5]
Category: Kiersey College (Webseries), Original Work
Genre: Chirping, College, Dear Evan Hansen References, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, Facetime, Gen, I am so sorry, I cannot believe this is a thing that exists, Kiersey College, M/M, Quinn Cooper Getting Nice Things, Quinn auditions for the musical, Sebastián Hernandez is a Supportive Boyfriend, Some schmoopy Quinn and Nando business, Theatre Kids, anyway, hahaha literally, just for fun, so many dear evan hansen references, that's literally it - Freeform, theatre auditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/sincerelyreidburke
Summary: “I picked my audition song for the musical.”“You did!” Sebastián says.“Yes.” In truth, Quinn has been leaning towards the song he chose today since he learned what the spring musical was going to be back in August, but he’s aware that that sounds a tad extra. Today's research helped him finalize it, and that’s his point. “Now I have to get practicing.”Sebastián shifts a little in his bed, then says, “Tell me about it.”Or: Quinn auditions for the Kiersey College Drama Club's annual spring musical.
Relationships: OMC/OMC, Sebastián "Nando" Hernandez/Quinn Cooper
Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878397
Comments: 17
Kudos: 99
Collections: Kiersey College





	with stars in our eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively: the fic with so many Dear Evan Hansen references, it should be categorized as a crossover. To my dear friends who have no idea who these characters are or wtf is going on on my ao3, I invite you to join me in my OC madness!! [Here's](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/kiersey-college) where you can learn about the Kiersey College Men's Hockey class of 2022.  
> Quinn is, notably, not a hockey player, and this fic is incredibly Quinn-centric. In his defense, he is dating a hockey player, who also plays a major role in this story. I wrote this because I was asked to on Tumblr, but also because I have a soft spot for Quinn and his theatre adventures.  
> So anyways.... aside from telling you what, if you've been following along on my Tumblr with the cricket saga, you already know, this fic introduces you to the ensemble cast of drama club OCs I've invented solely to enhance my depiction of Quinn's theatre experience.

_December 22nd, 2018_

FaceTiming with Sebastián while at Oma and Opa’s is, as it turns out, something of a covert operation.

Quinn knows that might sound a little silly, but it’s honestly how he feels. Since coming home for winter break, life has felt like an ongoing series of elaborate untruths— about college, about people he’s met, and most importantly, in order to talk with his boyfriend.

For example, _what do you do there outside of classes, Quinn? / Oh… I get a lot of homework, so I don’t have very much free time._

Or, _have you made any friends? / Mostly the others in my classes._

Or, _any girls? / Oh, goodness, no. I’m very busy. I don’t have time for dating._

Or, his favorite, _is Kiersey as liberal as they say it is? They’re not trying to indoctrinate you with far-left identity politics, are they? / … Kiersey isn’t a bad place._

But having to lie so much doesn’t make staying in touch with Sebastián impossible. It’s just a matter of being careful: mute your notifications, take the heart out of his contact name, change your wallpaper. Restrict all gushing to happen outside of these walls.

Calling him requires a little more stealth. His bedroom is in the basement, but that doesn’t make it immune to spontaneous grandparent visits. So for the one thing, a FaceTime call can only happen after Oma and Opa are asleep. Luckily, they always go to bed early.

Tonight, Quinn peers into their room upstairs while he’s brushing his teeth. Right on schedule, they’ve both fallen asleep, with the TV still on. They’re watching Fox News, because it’s all they watch, and right now, some news anchor who looks like he was plucked off a boarding school campus and put directly on the air is getting extremely heated about something to do with ‘cultural marxism’. Opa is snoring.

Quinn flicks the TV off, silencing angry boarding school man, and shuts their light. When he’s finished in the bathroom getting ready for bed, he sends Sebastián off a text. _I’m ready! Just going into my room🤍_

He texts back on Quinn’s way down the stairs. _yayyyy❤️❤️❤️ just call me when you’re ready— no rush!!❤️_

And Quinn thinks he’s in the clear— but as he's walking across the living room, his phone starts to vibrate. He thinks it's Sebastián at first, but the name on the screen proves differently— it's a FaceTime call from Maggie. They haven't scheduled a time to talk today, but their friendship isn't exactly like that; they call each other spontaneously. He picks up, and waits for her face to load on the screen. "Hello," he says, when it does. She has her hair up in a pink scarf, and she flashes a peace sign at her camera. As always, she's the picture of glamour.

"What's up, bitch?" is her greeting. "Is this a bad time?"

"Well— I suppose it sort of is." He rubs the back of his neck, and gives her what he hopes is an apologetic frown. "You just caught me about to get on another call."

"Another call?" Maggie raises her eyebrows— and then grins maniacally. " _Ohhh_. I see. I'm interrupting a Skype date?"

" _Shhhh_ ," he urges her, with an instinctive glance to the staircase he just descended. The odds of anyone upstairs hearing his low-volume phone conversation would be slim even if his grandparents _were_ awake; they'd have to be on the stairs, actively listening. Despite the knot in his stomach that forms at the mere thought, he knows he's in the clear.

"Sorry," Maggie says, whispering now.

He opens the door to the basement, and closes it behind him. "You're quite alright," he assures her, and then flashes a sheepish smile. "Could I call you first thing tomorrow?"

"Not before seven." Maggie's smile could light up a room, even when she's being snarky. "That's my workout time."

"I assure you I won't be awake before seven," he tells her, and she laughs.

"Good, then call me when you do wake up," she says, and blows a kiss to the screen. "Give Sebastian my regards."

“It’s _Sebastián_.”

Her evil grin widens. “I just wanted to see if you’d correct me.”

"I hate you," he remarks.

"I hate you more," she says. "Call me in the morning!"

He laughs, as she ends the call. He stays within the FaceTime app to call Sebastián on his way down the basement stairs, and he picks up on the third ring. It connects as he closes and locks his bedroom door, then sinks down onto his comforter.

Sebastián’s face is a little grainy when it appears on the screen, which is Quinn’s fault entirely for having an iPhone 4, but he’s still cute in low resolution. He’s in his bedroom, which Quinn has learned is his standard FaceTime spot. There’s always a Mexican flag and a hockey poster visible behind his head— it’s his favorite player, Austin something? He’s the one whose jersey he was wearing on Halloween; Quinn knows that much.

Quinn’s own room, here at home, is boring, plain blue walls with plain bedding, nothing all that special. There isn’t even a picture on the walls. He much prefers his dorm room, with his fairy lights and Polaroids and pride flag on the walls— but he can’t have any of those things here.

Sebastián waves. He’s all smiles. “Hey, baby!”

“Hi.” Quinn pulls his comforter up to his chest. “Sorry. Maggie was harassing me.”

“Harassing you?” he asks, and Quinn nods, with a chuckle.

“She called me just now.”

“Oh!” He looks guilty, with a frown and knit brows. “Baby— I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were already on the phone—”

“Sebastián,” he cuts in, gently. “Please don’t worry. She didn't tell me she was going to, and I said I'd call her in the morning.”

“Well…” He no longer looks completely concerned, but still a little guilty. “Okay, but tell her I’m sorry, yeah?”

“I will.” Quinn smiles at him. “Thank you.”

Sebastián smiles again, too. He has the sweetest smile. “Of course.”

There’s a brief moment of pause; there usually is, right when they pick up, as they take each other in. They Snapchat pictures back and forth, but bless the creator of FaceTime, honestly. It’s a lovely thing.

Then, right on schedule, Quinn rolls onto his side, presses his cheek into his pillow, and asks, “So how was your day?”

Sebastián nods. “It was great,” he replies. His days, according to his reports, are always great— except that one day a week ago when he had a Christmas shopping crisis because he couldn’t find something he wanted to get for one of his sisters. (He found it the next day, thankfully, in a different store.) “I helped Mama bake.”

“Ooh.” Quinn is hungry. Oma and Opa like to eat early, so dinner was four hours ago. “What did you bake?”

“Conchas.” He makes a noise that’s vaguely suggestive, which is unfair, because it gives Quinn thoughts he shouldn’t be having. “They’re, like, sweet bread rolls with a crunchy part on the top. I could eat about twenty of them at once.”

“That sounds delicious.” He pauses. “Are they for Christmas?”

“Christmas Eve. At my abuela’s.” Sebastián pauses. If his talking about it has been any indication, the Hernandez family goes all-out for the holidays. Quinn is pretty sure they’re just having turkey here on Christmas Day; they’ll go to church, but he knows there’s no one to invite over. “I’ll have to make them for you sometime,” Sebastián adds. “They’re _so_ good.”

Quinn smiles. He feels as soft as a fresh-baked bread, come to think of it. “I’d love that.”

“And, uh…” Sebastián continues. “Well, I worked. I just got home, kind of. Now my tio's restaurant is closed until after Christmas.”

“Ooh.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “A vacation.”

Sebastián laughs. “Yeah, something like it, I guess.” He pats down the curls on his forehead. Quinn loves smoothing those. He wishes he could right now. “How about you?” he asks. “How was your day?”

“Um…” Quinn pauses. What even _did_ he do today? He watched a bootleg of _Dear Evan Hansen_ , but crying over a badly and illegally filmed video isn’t exactly the most interesting thing to say you did today.

But… oh! “I picked my audition song for the musical.”

“You did!” he says.

“Yes.” In truth, he’s been leaning towards the song he chose today since he learned what the show was back in August, but he’s aware that that sounds a tad extra. The bootleg helped him finalize it, and that’s his point. “Now I have to get practicing.”

Sebastián shifts a little in his bed, then says, “Tell me about it.”

Quinn smiles. Sebastián, he knows, had limited knowledge of theatre when they started dating, but he’s been making a point to learn. He supposes it’s his equivalent of himself going to hockey games.

It’s sweet.

So he does tell him. “It’s from the show,” he starts. “And it’s probably one of the more famous songs, actually. It’s the main character’s first solo in Act I.”

“It’s sung by the star?” Sebastián arches an eyebrow, with a grin. “That’s badass, baby.”

Quinn smiles. “I don’t do things halfway,” he replies. “And besides, it’s one of my favorite Broadway songs in general.”

“Oh, so you knew it before?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“ _Nice_.” Sebastián pauses. “So do you think you’ll get the part?”

“Oh— the part of the _lead_?” He almost laughs. “Goodness, of course not.”

“What?” He frowns inside the screen. “Why not?”

“Well, several reasons.” He lists them on his free hand. “For the one thing, I’m a freshman.”

“Aw, that’s no reason!” Sebastián protests. “I’m a freshman, and I still get playing time. Your grade doesn’t matter if you work hard and do a good job.”

“But a lead is like…” he says. “Like being the team captain. They’d never give team captain to a freshman.” He pauses a second, then it occurs to him that he has no idea if he’s correct. He squints. “Would they?”

“Well, I don’t think there’s, like, a rule _against_ it,” Sebastián says. “And also… I dunno, I feel like it’s a little different. Who says a freshman can’t be the star of the show?”

“Technically, nobody,” he admits, “but there are a lot of extremely talented upperclassmen in the drama club.”

Sebastián shrugs. “I dunno, baby. I believe in you.”

He smiles. This lovely boy. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I just never like to expect things. It helps so I’m never disappointed.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Sebastián looks disheartened. It makes sense; he’s the perfect optimist. “But you have me cheering for you anyway.”

Quinn smiles. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome.” Sebastián pauses. He fixes his hair again. “Oh— also, I have a funny restaurant story for you.”

In two brief weeks of being home for winter break, Quinn has learned that the supply of funny, bizarre, and otherwise entertaining stories from Sebastián’s uncle’s restaurant is near endless. “Please tell me,” he laughs, snuggling into his comforter.

Truth be told, he’d hear just about any story just to talk with this boy.

*

_January 4th, 2019_

The issue, as it turns out, with having little to do over winter break but perfect your audition plan is this: Waving Through A Window is an _incredibly_ catchy song.

Quinn knew this before, of course. He’s been listening to the show’s soundtrack since he discovered it, a year ago. But apparently, singing it several times a day (out in the car by yourself, where your grandparents can’t hear you) really imprints the tune on your mind. This doesn’t become particularly apparent to Quinn until he starts to catch himself singing it at random, idle times.

For example, tonight he’s on FaceTime, as usual, and he barely even realizes he’s murmur-singing ( _I’ve learned to slam on the brake…_ ) until Sebastián with that sweet, soft smile, asks, “What are you singing?”

“Oops.” He chuckles. “I’m sorry. I barely even realized I was singing again.”

“Don’t apologize,” he replies. “You have a really nice voice.”

He sees himself blush in the corner of the screen. “Thank you,” he says. “And it was just my audition song.”

Sebastián grins. “You’re on the grind!”

“I just want to be ready,” he replies, which is true, but also sounds nicer than _I have nothing else to do_.

“When is it again?” he asks. “The audition.”

He’s committed the logistical information to memory, from what he heard at the November and December drama club meetings. “Sign-ups for time slots are the Monday we get back, and then the auditions run Tuesday, Wednesday, callbacks Thursday. Cast list goes up on Friday, and script pick-ups are Friday afternoon. First read-through is the following Monday.”

“Wow.” Sebastián grins again. “You’ve got this down to a science.”

“I like to be prepared.”

Sebastián pauses a moment, then rolls over in his bed. “So…” he starts. “What’s the show about?”

Quinn hesitates, a moment, because in the unlikely event that he gets cast— or even if he doesn’t, in which case he’ll be on tech— he hopes Sebastián might come and see the show, and he doesn’t want to spoil him. So he keeps it vague. “It’s… about a teenager with social anxiety.”

Sebastián nods. “Okay,” he says, but it’s very much an _okay_ that seems to expect something coming next.

So Quinn asks, “Would you, um… would you _like_ for me to spoil the show, or—?”

“Oh— no, no, no spoilers,” he replies, shaking his head. “Just give me the spoiler-free summary. When I come see it, I wanna not know the ending.”

Quinn feels his whole person lighten. His chest flutters a little. “You’ll come and see it?”

“Of course I will, baby.” Quinn really wishes he could be kissing him, suddenly. “How could I miss it?”

Goodness, Quinn loves having a boyfriend.

“Well, okay,” he starts. “It’s, um… essentially, the plot is, the main character lies about being friends with a classmate who died.”

“Ooh.” Sebastián pauses. “Who would lie about that?”

Quinn shrugs. “He’s a flawed protagonist.” He pauses. “But it’s a really fantastic show. I think it’s one of those stories that’s difficult to explain, but you understand when you see it.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Oh— goodness, no.” He thinks back to his beloved bootleg. “But what I wouldn’t give. I suppose performing in it would actually be even better. I’ve known the show since it premiered on Broadway.” He sighs, a little wistfully. “It’s… a dream show, in all honesty.”

“Babyyyyy.” Sebastián’s voice gives him more butterflies. “Why don’t you go out for the lead?”

“Sebastián,” he replies, in an even voice. “It’s simple. I never ‘go out for the lead’. I merely audition, and when they ask if there’s a role I’m hoping for, I say, I’d love to be anywhere in the cast you think I would be most useful, but if you decide I’m not a good fit for the cast, I’d be happy to help with costumes.”

Sebastián raises one eyebrow. “That sounds rehearsed.”

“Well, it’s what I say every time,” he says, because he does. It’s his foolproof method at every audition. It always lands him in the best spot for him.

“But baby,” Sebastián urges. “It sounds like you love this show so much. Why not try to get a big part?”

Goodness, his optimism is charming. Still, Quinn can’t waver— not on this. “Because I always expect the least result,” he tells him. “It means no being disappointed.”

Sebastián bites his lip, like he’s thinking on that, and Quinn becomes thoroughly distracted by the sight. It has been almost four weeks since he had him in person, and that’s four weeks too long.

“Okay,” Sebastián says, after a moment. “Well… I do respect that. But I’ll always hype you up, if you ever want it.”

“Thank you, honey.” Quinn is warm. He smiles at him.

For a second, it’s quiet. Then, as if he can read his mind, Sebastián gets a little closer to the screen and murmurs, all soft, “I really miss you, by the way.”

Quinn near melts. “I miss you, too,” he replies. “Ten days,” he adds because they’re counting.

“Ten days,” Sebastián echoes. He’s so handsome, even in a screen.

Those ten days can’t go by quickly enough.

*

_January 14th, 2019_

On the first day of spring semester, Quinn wakes to lips on his forehead.

It’s not the only touch, he realizes, as he comes to— there’s also a huge, warm hand on the side of his face, fingers soft but with an obvious touch. He blinks a few times, as the perpetrator pulls off of him. His dorm room is almost completely dark, but Sebastián, a tall silhouette in full team garb, is standing over the bed.

His first thought is, _it’s too early to be awake._ His second thought is, _he’s so large_ . His third thought is, _I’m cold and he should get back in bed._ And it’s around his fourth thought, as he shifts to look up at Sebastián from his spot still in the cocoon of bed, that he realizes what today is. The first day of the semester.

 _Audition sign-ups_.

He blinks at Sebastián again, who is still lingering, and it’s right around then that he thinks he notices he’s awake, because he sees him say something including _... sorry, baby._

Quinn thinks he maybe vocalizes, because he feels himself make some kind of noise (though it’s anyone’s guess how it sounds). _... didn't mean... wake you_ , Sebastián says, smoothing the front of his hair. His hand is very warm. Quinn presses his cheek into it.

The first early-morning wake-up of the semester.

 _... practice_ , Sebastián’s lips say. Morning practice, Quinn knows. The hockey team seem to be fond of doing team things at the crack of dawn.

Quinn nods. He yawns, then brings his own hand up to his face, tapping at his lips. He hopes it’s an adequate signal; they’ve used it before.

Sebastián smiles. He leans down for a kiss, and Quinn, half-drowsy and hazy on sleep and dark, has him exactly where he wants him. He grabs him— blindly at first, because his eyes are closed, and then a little more firmly once he has him by the front of his windbreaker. It’s a good kiss, a long one, and Quinn kisses him again right after. He holds him close.

Winter break was too long.

When they pause to breathe, Sebastián cups his cheek and gives him an apologetic smile. Quinn knows what it says without him saying a thing: _I have to go._

Quinn pouts. Sebastián, in response, kisses him again, which is a very welcome supplication. Then he pulls back, kissing him on the forehead again, the same way he woke him up.

 _I'll see you later,_ Quinn watches him say. ... _good day, baby._

Quinn gives him a sleepy smile. _You, too,_ he tells him, in probably a whisper. He releases his hold on his jacket reluctantly.

He watches him go, then, when his room is empty, yawns at the ceiling and rolls over.

It’s audition sign-up day. But for now, he has at least an hour more to sleep.

*

_Monday 1/14/19, 8:02 AM_

_FROM:_ [ _jcaraway@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jcaraway@samwell.edu)

_TO: Kiersey Community Forum_

_CC:_ [ _dramaclub@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:dramaclub@samwell.edu)

_SUBJECT: AUDITIONS for the SPRING MUSICAL_

_Dear Kiersey Community,_

_It’s my pleasure to announce that sign-ups are officially OPEN for the Kiersey Drama Club’s annual spring musical,_ Dear Evan Hansen _. A Tony-award winning musical, the show has received various accolades and much critical acclaim, and we’re thrilled to be bringing it to the Beckett Performing Arts Center stage this spring._

_TO AUDITION: Please write your name down for a 15-minute time slot that works best with your schedule, either Tuesday or Wednesday of this week. The sign-up list is posted now on the bulletin board outside Beckett 1C. When your audition time arrives, please come to the Beckett center prepared with one song of your choice (preferably a musical theatre piece). You may sing acapella or with a track. Auditions will run for two days, and callbacks will occur if necessary._

_Best of luck, and we hope to see you at auditions!_

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Jen Caraway_

_Professor of Fine Arts — Theatre_

_Kiersey Drama Club, Faculty Chair_

*

_Monday 1/14/19, 8:12 AM_

_FROM:_ [ _dramaclub@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:dramaclub@samwell.edu)

_TO: 51 Recipients_

_CC:_ [ _jcaraway@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jcaraway@samwell.edu)

_SUBJECT: Welcome Back & Audition Sign-ups! _

_Hello, all!_

_Welcome back, and here’s hoping you had a splendiferous winter break full of festivities and relaxation. We’ll have our January GMM next week, but today we want to remind you that audition sign-ups for the spring musical,_ Dear Evan Hansen _, are happening today (and today only!!) in Beckett. If you saw Dr. C’s email a few minutes ago to the community form, you’ll know that auditions are open to any student, so as drama club members, you’ll want to secure your audition slots._

_By the way, don’t worry— if we run out of time slots, we’ll make more, especially for you lovely people. No stress, no sweat!_

_Head on over to the bulletin board outside Beck 1C to put your name on the list. When you come to audition, have a song ready! Also, if you want to send us a track you want to sing to ahead of time, our resident sound technician extraordinaire, Jhiron, has got you covered. Shoot him an email at_ [ _jhassan19@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jhassan18@samwell.edu) _._

_That’s all from us for now, but we’ll see you soon! Feel free to email Reid, Ellie, or Dr. C if you have any audition questions._

_Love,_

_The Board_

*

He has organic chem and calculus II for morning classes. His afternoon class is Elements of Stagecraft, so after he grabs a to-go lunch and gets a jump start on his homework, he walks to the Beckett center in the sub-zero temperatures, wielding a pen for the sign-ups.

Beckett's lobby isn’t very occupied. Ellie, a junior and the drama club vice president, is on her computer in the theatre department office; he can see her through its big, clear windows. She has huge, ginger hair, like Merida, and she’s fantastic. Quinn waves to her on his way by, turning his ears on.

“Hey, Quinn!” she calls. “Are you signing up for a slot?”

“I sure am,” he replies, with a smile. He clicks his pen once, stopping in the doorway.

“Sweet!” Ellie takes both hands off her keyboard to ruffle her hair. “I’m stage-managing. Well, I mean. With any luck.”

Ellie doesn’t need luck. She stage-managed the fall production, and, upperclassmen say, every other show they’ve put on since she was a freshman. Reid, the actual president, told him and a few other freshmen at the first meeting of the year that Ellie almost single-handedly keeps the entire club’s shit together. Quinn thoroughly believes it.

“It’ll be a great show,” he tells her.

“Yeah, it will,” she replies, with a huge smile. “Who are you auditioning for?”

He dusts off his peacoat. “Whoever the production staff thinks I’m best suited for.”

Ellie folds her arms, nodding like she’s a wise old king. She has one pink Chuck Taylor high-top sneaker up on the table. “Good methodology,” she says.

He smiles. “Thank you.”

“Well, go.” She waves in the direction of the board around the corner. “Grab a good slot.”

“I will.” He steps back from the doorway. “Thank you.”

Around the corner, he clicks his pen again. There are two people at the board, facing the sign-up sheet— and, in fact, standing so directly in front of it that they’re obstructing it entirely. Quinn knows them both— Kelsie and Spencer, both juniors, a drama club power couple who make passive-aggressive announcements at the monthly meetings and sometimes even coordinate their outfits. Today, the latter doesn’t seem to be the case; Kelsie is wearing a fuzzy pink winter jacket, and, Quinn notices, got her blond hair highlighted over the break; Spencer is in jeans and brown leather.

They’re talking, Quinn observes, as he approaches the board. Their voices are low, and their heads tilted together; Quinn turns up the volume in his ears.

“... who’s that?” Kelsie is asking.

“I think she’s a freshman,” Spencer replies.

“Hmm.” Kelsie taps her foot. “Don’t think I’ve met her.”

Spencer leans toward the board. “Oh my God,” he mutters, with something like glee in his voice. “Allison Halterman?”

Kelsie snorts, then laughs into her hand. “What part does she think _she’s_ getting?”

Quinn marvels at the scene. They’re just standing in front of the list, making fun of the people who signed up to audition. That’s… Sharpay and Ryan levels of petty, he thinks. It’s almost impressive.

But they’re in the way, and Quinn can do petty, too. While Spencer is saying something else about Allison Halterman, he clears his throat.

They both turn, inwards on each other, and Kelsie flashes this huge, fake smile. “Oh, hi there!” she says, like she’s talking to a preschooler.

“It’s Quentin, right?” Spencer says.

He stands his ground. “It’s Quinn, actually.”

“Oh.” Spencer grins. “Sorry.”

Kelsie literally _leans down_ to him, despite the fact that she’s maybe an inch taller than him (but then again, she’s wearing heeled booties). “Are you a freshman?” she asks.

“I am,” he replies, squaring his shoulders.

“Oh, that’s great!” She’s still smiling, but it looks demented. “We can always use beginners. I’m sure you’ll find something to do to help out.”

Spencer adds, “There are a lot of really great ensemble roles this year.”

Quinn bites his tongue, takes a long breath, and looks between the both of them. “Would you mind moving so I can sign up for a time, please?”

“Oh!” Kelsie pretends to be surprised by the fact that she’s blocking the board. “I’m sorry,” she says, as she and Spencer part like a pair of double doors. Quinn walks past them, maintaining his composure, and studies the sign-up sheet.

The first two slots for Tuesday bear _Spencer B. Bergen_ and _Kelsie Wilkes_ in huge script, which is no surprise at all. There are a number of unfamiliar names on the list, and a fair amount of slots still open as well. Maggie took the third-to-last Tuesday slot. Reid is auditioning, too, in the middle of the Wednesday names.

He scans the available times. He thinks he’d rather go on Wednesday, because it gives him an extra day to prepare.

So he writes himself in for 4:45 on Wednesday, after Reid but before Claire Deshaies, Ellie’s roommate.

Perfect.

He feels Spencer and Kelsie watching him over either shoulder, but he won’t give them the satisfaction of a self-conscious look backwards; he takes a deep breath as he nods at his name on the list, then turns to go.

“Thank you,” he tells them, because they did, after all, move when he asked.

“Oh, you’re so welcome!” Kelsie’s fake smile is back.

“Break a leg in auditions,” Spencer adds. “Remember, all you have to do is your best.”

“Good luck to you both as well,” he tells them, and then walks away. They crowd the board again as soon as he’s gone.

Some people in the theatre program are so, well… theatrical.

*

He’s practicing in his room that night when there’s a development. And unfortunately, it isn’t at all a good one.

It’s on maybe his third run-through of the song since getting in from dinner with Maggie. He moves around his room, back and forth in the small space, while he sings, since he’s almost incapable entirely of singing while standing completely still. He does his very best to channel all the angst and anxiety that the performance requires. He even signs through the whole thing, as best he can translate, once around, to help with the acting, and considers it a relatively successful endeavor.

He isn’t nervous, but he’s stressed. He maintains that these are different feelings. Nervous reflects a lack of confidence in your own promise to deliver. Stressed reflects a sense of urgency about logistics falling into place. Quinn is never nervous, but almost always stressed— right up until the moment he gets on the stage.

But the development occurs while singing. He’s following along with the track playing from his phone, standing by his bed and staring dead ahead at a Polaroid of some tulips clipped to his light string. He gets all the way to the very last _is anybody waving back at me?_ without incident. And then, to his horror, when he leaps up the octave to sing the last bit, he feels his voice falter, and come very, very close to giving out on him.

He stops dead in his tracks, before the _whoa_ at the end of the song, as his stomach drops. He brings his hand to his throat and lets the track finish off on its own. _Oh, no._

It’s not that his voice _broke_ on that B flat, not entirely. He can go a whole step over it, without cracking to falsetto; he’s always been able to. He tries half-voicing it, to see, and it puts a dangerous strain he can feel on his vocal cords.

His stomach turns in on itself again, and he swallows. _No, no, no._ He is not losing his voice. Not right now.

But he can feel the strain, and— goodness, has he been practicing too much? The song has a large range, certainly, but nothing he isn’t perfectly capable of handling. He never thought he might accidentally strain his voice with it.

He turns his track off before it auto-repeats, then takes a shaky breath. Well, this settles it. He can’t keep practicing. Not tonight, and likely not tomorrow, either. He knows this song inside and out; he should be ready for Wednesday.

Alright. Now he might be just a tad nervous.

He sits on the edge of his bed and smooths his hair. He’s fine. He’s okay. He just has to rest his voice. Maybe he won’t speak at all from now until then. Everything will be fine, and he _won’t_ botch this audition—

 _Knock, knock, knock_. Quinn jumps, but fixes his eyes on the door. Sebastián always knocks in a rhythm, and though he didn’t say he was coming, he doesn’t always say so. It’s that time of the evening, anyhow.

He pulls the door open. Sebastián is in his sweats and those terrible slide sandals, and he greets him with a big smile. “Hey, baby.” He pauses as Quinn lets him in. “Nice sweatshirt,” he adds, tickling the side of his arm. Quinn had forgotten, for a moment, that he was wearing his hockey hoodie.

Once the door is shut, Quinn lasts exactly two seconds before he crumbles on his potential vow of silence. “Sebastián,” he cries, in a smaller voice than usual, at least. “I think my voice is giving out.”

“What?” Sebastián frowns, concern in his eyes. “How come? _Ohhh_ — because you’re practicing?”

Quinn groans, nodding, as he presses his face into his palm. “Yes,” he says, miserably, and it’s like offloading all the audition-related stress of the past 24 hours. It feels cathartic, but also full of dread. “I was singing just now, and I went up to the high B flat at the end of the song, which I _know_ I’m perfectly capable of hitting, and I felt my voice strain, so now I think it might be going, and I probably shouldn’t even be speaking at _all_ right now, because I’m probably making it worse, but—”

“Hey. _Baby_. Shhh.” In true Sebastián fashion, he cuts his rant off with a soothing gesture, pulling him into a warm, tight hug. Quinn exhales sharply, then hops up to warp his legs around his waist, anchoring himself to his top half. Sebastián holds him right up, and he presses his face into his warm neck. They have this down to a science.

“You’re nervous,” Sebastián murmurs. It’s so calming just to feel him speak.

“I’m not nervous,” he insists, not lifting his head. “I’m stressed.”

Sebastián rubs his thigh. “There’s a difference?”

“Yes.” He sighs, and in the brief pause, Sebastián moves them to the bed, settling him down in his lap. Quinn pulls back to meet his eyes, still otherwise entirely wrapped around him.

“Being nervous is personal,” he tells him. “Being stressed is logistical.”

Sebastián blinks. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s…” He pauses a moment, because it makes sense in his head. Explaining it to someone else is another story, as it turns out. “Stress is about all the factors involved in _getting_ yourself there. And I’m always stressed, right until I get onstage. For example.” He unwraps one hand from him to count on his fingers. “What if my track skips? What if there’s a mix-up with audition times and I miss mine? What if I overwork myself and don’t have a voice?”

“So…” Sebastián says. “How’s that different from being nervous?”

He closes his eyes and tries to channel some zen. “Because being nervous makes me think of the level of confidence in your _self_ , as opposed to logistic factors. I know I can do it. It’s just a matter of getting there, and being prepared.”

“Oh.” Slowly, he looks like he’s beginning to understand. “Okay, I think I get it.”

“Hence…” His stomach knots up again, and he glances off to the side a moment. “My voice.”

“Well, that’s okay, baby,” Sebastián mumbles, tracing his jaw with one giant hand. “We don’t have to talk.”

Quinn wraps his free hand back around his middle. He’s so big and warm. It’s only night two back from break, but he’s already used to this again.

“We could watch a movie,” Sebastián suggests. “Or YouTube?”

Quinn hums a little. “I don’t want to watch anything, I don’t think.”

“Okay.” He rubs his back. “That’s good, too.”

Quinn lets his eyes linger on him. He’s stressed, and a little tired, and he doesn’t want to keep going over all the ways the audition could be a disaster— but he also doesn’t feel keen on doing much else besides just resting with him.

So he turns off his ears, then pulls the hearing aids out entirely, grabbing their case and shutting them inside. He sets the case on the bedside table, then tilts his head to look up at Sebastián.

His eyes go serious, and he gives him the most handsome little smile right before he leans down and presses him into a long kiss.

Quinn hooks his arms around his neck and pulls him downward, back against the headboard. Sebastián’s hands are gentle on his waist, and he keeps his legs wrapped around him even as he falls underneath him. It’s the first kiss of several, before they stop to breathe.

Sebastián smiles again. He smiles right back.

This is a _far_ better alternative to anything else, for tonight.

He kisses him again, and then there’s the blissful peace of no noise and the pressure of his body from above, and the way his mouth meets his, slow and so sweet, and all Quinn can focus on is this.

*

_January 15th, 2019_

_Tuesday 1/15/19, 2:14 PM_

_FROM:_ [ _qcooper22@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:qcooper21@samwell.edu)

_TO:_ [ _jhassan19@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jhassan18@samwell.edu)

_SUBJECT: Track for audition_

_Hello Jhiron!_

_My name is Quinn; I’m a drama club freshman, and I’m signed up to audition tomorrow at 4:45. I’m attaching the track I’d like to use to sing to!_

_Thank you so much, and have a great night._

_Sincerely,_

_Quinn Cooper ‘22_

_Attachment: 1 MP3 File_

*

_iMessage_

_Tuesday, 1/15/19_

_4:53 PM_

_You: You’re on at 5, right?_

_Maggie Atkins: yes_

_You: GOOD LUCK!_

_You: Go knock their socks off_

_Maggie Atkins: hahaha ty_

_Maggie Atkins: will let u know how it goes_

_5:11 PM_

_Maggie Atkins: IM OUT_

_You emphasized a message_

_You: How did it go?_

_Maggie Atkins: so_

_Maggie Atkins: i THINK it went well_

_Maggie Atkins: my song was fine_

_Maggie Atkins: kinda got shaky on the last note_

_Maggie Atkins: BUT_

_Maggie Atkins: i’m satisfied?_

_Maggie Atkins: and the staff weren’t as scary as i thought_

_You: That’s great!_

_You: Did they make you do anything else?_

_Maggie Atkins: they tested my range_

_Maggie Atkins: and i had to fill out a sheet_

_Maggie Atkins: also they asked if i was going for any part in particular_

_You: What did you say?_

_Maggie Atkins: that i’d love a speaking role_

_Maggie Atkins: shoot ur shot lol_

_You loved a message_

_You: That’s smart…_

_Maggie Atkins: are we getting dinner?_

_You: Yes, sure._

_You: What time? I’m doing lab HW, but I can pause._

_Maggie Atkins: 5:30?_

_You liked a message_

_You: See you then!_

*

_January 16th, 2019_

If he can help it, breakfast on audition days is always the same.

Wednesday morning marks the first time he’s tried to do it in the Kiersey dining hall, but the selection is very adequate. He makes a cup of decaffeinated black tea, because the thought of caffeine on an audition day makes him wary of a crash, and puts honey in it for his throat. With his remaining meal plan fund for the morning, he makes a big bowl of fruit salad and gets a hard-boiled egg. It’s a foolproof breakfast, and as he sits down at his table, he’s satisfied.

“What’s up, Quinny?” He looks across the table to a slightly disheveled Ben, his hair in a messy bun atop his head. Next to him, in this huge, fluffy, very Canadian jacket, is Remy. Sebastián, in his usual seat next to Quinn’s on the other side, flashes him a wink and a smile.

“Good morning, Ben.” Quinn nods to him. “Hello, Remy.”

“Big day for you, huh?” Ben asks.

His stomach does an acrobatic trick. “It is indeed,” he replies. “But I’m ready.”

Remy is cutting a hash brown in half. “What time’s your audition?”

“4:45.” He pauses, as Sebastián rubs his knee under the table. He thinks he can sense the stress radiating off of him, and he gives him a grateful smile as he reaches for the salt and pepper at the table’s center. “But,” he adds, looking back to Remy, “I have a class in Beckett that ends at 3:45, and I think I’m just going to stick around.”

“Good idea.” Ben finger-guns at him. “That’s called being prepared.”

Quinn nods, sprinkling pepper and then salt on both halves of his egg. Remy asks, “Are you nervous?”

“He’s stressed,” Sebastián quips, “not nervous.”

Remy arches an eyebrow, and Ben leans back in his seat. “Yeah…” Ben says. “You’re gonna have to explain that one, chief.”

Sebastián is ready with the explanation, dutiful and calm. “Stress is about external factors, and nerves are about self-confidence.”

Like Sebastián on Monday night, Ben and Remy don’t look sold. But Quinn nods at him. “Exactly,” he says. “Thank you, honey.”

“Ooh.” Remy flashes a conniving grin. “Fine, Nanny. Pay up.”

Sebastián flips him off with a smile of his own, from ear to ear. “Fuck the fine police.”

“It's my duty as your teammate to call you on your sappy shit.”

In protest, Sebastián eats an entire hash brown in one bite. It’s sort of sexy, in his gross jock way of being sexy. Remy, maybe only for now, leaves him be, and turns back to Quinn. “What part are you auditioning for?”

He pauses, with his tea mug halfway to his mouth, and remarks, “Any part they’ll give me.”

“Oh.” Remy nods. “Cool.”

“So if you don’t care what part you get…” Ben says. “Why are you nervous? Wait— sorry. Stressed.”

Quinn sips his tea, then takes a moment, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he looks between the boys.

Why _is_ he stressed? He’s been asking himself the same thing for days. He hasn’t been this stressed about an audition in years. Maybe ever.

But deep down, he knows why.

“Well,” he begins, folding his hands on the table. “A few reasons, I believe.”

Ben spreads out his arms. “Hit me with them.”

“This is my first college audition.” He pauses. “All the auditions I’ve done for the past four years have been with a group of people who know me, and have seen me perform before,” he explains. “But the drama club here… not only are they more prestigious than my high school theatre program, they also have no impression of me as a performer yet.” It’s all he’s thought about throughout this process. “So while it’s true that I’m not picky about where and if I get cast, it’s very important to me that I make a good general impression.”

“That makes sense,” Remy says. He seems to actually be following along, which he usually does. Remy is the least chaotic of the three boys by a longshot.

“And not only that,” he adds, “but this _is_ one of my favorite shows of all time. Even though I’m just a freshman, I’d be absolutely honored to be able to participate in its production in any capacity. And I do confess that although I have the utmost respect for tech, I’d rather be on the stage this time around.”

“It’s okay, Q,” Ben says, with a little laugh— it’s not a cruel laugh at all, only an amused chuckle. “We’re not the directors. You don’t have to argue your case to us.”

He shrugs. Truth be told, he _was_ rambling a little. “Well, I’m just saying.”

“Do you feel ready?” Remy asks. “For the audition.”

“I do,” he tells him, which is true, mostly, despite his fears about his voice. He hasn’t sung since Monday night and the terrifying strain monet, but he’ll warm up before 4:45 today, of course. “I’ve got my audition breakfast,” he says, gesturing to his tray, “and I’m wearing my lucky socks, and I’m ready to go.”

“Yooo,” Ben laughs. “Quinnothy, you have pregame rituals?”

He catches a smile from Sebastián out of the corner of his eye, and he returns it before nodding at Ben. “Of course,” he says. “Theatre people have superstitions, too.”

Breakfast proceeds as normally as it can, given the occasion. Quinn finishes his whole spread, sits talking for about twenty more minutes, and then has to leave for organic chem, which starts at 9:30. “I’ll walk you out,” Sebastián says, gathering his own tray up to buss it. “Can I grab your tray, baby?”

“Well, alright,” he replies, because he offered. He picks up his backpack from its spot next to his chair. “Thank you.”

“Hey. Q.” Ben holds his hand across the table, like he wants a high-five. Quinn obliges. “Crush shit today.”

“Yeah, good luck!” Remy adds. “Text us how it goes.”

“I will.” Quinn smiles. “Thank you both.” For a split second, he’s so touched by their kindness that the looming stress of the biggest audition of his life takes a backseat.

It resurfaces as quickly as it went. He follows Sebastián toward the dish return, as Ben flashes him a peace sign (or, really, the letter V, but he knows Ben just means ‘peace’).

Sebastián returns their trays, then Quinn falls into step next to him, wrapping his hand up in his elbow. “Thank you for walking me out,” he says, looking up at him.

“Of course.” Sebastián grins. He tips his head against his while they walk, and when they reach the doors, turns to face him entirely. It’s the last time, Quinn knows, that he’ll see him until after the audition.

“Okay,” Sebastián says. He takes both of his hands. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yes,” Quinn replies.

“You’re gonna kick ass, baby.” His smile is contagious. “I’ll be thinking of you. I said a prayer this morning— I’ll say another one.”

Quinn smiles. “Thank you, honey.”

“Always,” he replies. He squeezes his hands, then pulls him close. “C’mere.”

He kisses him gently, and Quinn is at ease, again. “Good luck, baby,” Sebastián hums. “And have a good day.”

“You do that, too,” Quinn tells him. He squeezes back at his hands before they let go, and Sebastián gives him one last peck.

“I’m rooting for you!” he calls, as Quinn heads out the door.

He blows him a kiss, and Sebastián beams. He ‘catches’ it, and tucks it into his hockey jacket pocket.

Quinn smiles as he walks out into the chilly morning.

He can do this.

*

When he gets out of Elements of Stagecraft at 3:45, he heads straight for one of the soundproof practice rooms in the basement of the Beckett center, where the music department is located. He locks himself in, warms up for a solid little while with the piano and the mirror as company, and prepares his voice without incident (thank God), then does a few little meditation exercises. When he’s reached as much calm as he’s going to attain for the afternoon, he heads back upstairs to the auditorium lobby, which seems to be functioning as the audition green room.

There are a few people gathered there, and a folding table is set up by the door that leads into the front row of the house; it doesn’t look like they’re using the actual backstage door. Ellie and her laptop are at said table, and next to her is a stack of papers. She’s wearing a pink flannel today, and it matches her Chuck Taylors.

“Hey, Quinn,” she says, with a wave. “If you could take one of these and fill it out, that’d be super.”

“I will, thank you,” he replies, as he takes a paper off the top of the stack. “How are you today?”

She smiles a little. “I’ve been sitting here for three straight hours, but otherwise I’m fine.”

“Don’t you mean three lesbian hours?” says a familiar voice from nearby, and while Ellie throws her head back in a laugh, Quinn glances over to see Reid, the club president, sitting on a bench against the wall.

“You got me there,” she says, pointing to him, and he grins.

“Hi, Quinn,” he says, which, Quinn _has_ spoken with him several times before, but it’s always been when he’s in a group of other freshmen, so he’s pleasantly surprised by the fact that Reid remembers his name. “You’re on right after me, right?”

Quinn nods. “I believe so.” he takes a tentative step toward the bench, then just makes a choice and walks the rest of the way over. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Be my guest,” Reid says, so he sits. He resolves that he will not be intimidated, but he can’t say he doesn’t want Reid to like him. A senior theatre major, he starred alongside Spencer in this year’s fall production, and he runs meetings nicely. He’s wearing a _Seinfeld_ t-shirt right now; he’s sort of spindly and tall, with blond hair and glasses. He looks at his own sheet for a second, then shakes his head and shrugs. “So how was your break?”

“Oh!” They’ve literally been back at school for three days, but winter break already feels so long ago. “It was relaxing. But a bit uneventful.” He dusts off his slacks, crossing his ankle over his knee. His lucky socks, the navy blue ones with tiny white dots, are an audition day essential. “I do prefer being here,” he tells Reid.

“I feel you there,” he replies. “I can’t believe this is my last semester of college.” He shakes it out again, then makes a pained face. “But we won’t talk about my second-semester senior angst right now. Tell me more about yourself.” He turns to face him a little, like he’s a talk show host doing an interview. “Where are you from again?”

“Oh— I’m from Grand Rapids, Michigan.”

“Hey!” Reid fist-bumps him. “Midwest crew rise.”

He smiles a bit. “Where are you from?”

“Wisconsin.” Reid pauses. “Like, buttfuck nowhere, Wisconsin, but about an hour outside Madison.”

“Oh, I see.” He nods. “Do you like it there?” he asks, and then cringes internally at himself, because what a pointless question.

Reid snorts, though, and adjusts his glasses. “Let’s just say I don’t wanna live there forever.”

“Oh, I know how you feel,” he says. “I can’t live in Michigan when I grow up."

“What’s your major?” Reid asks. “You’re… a theatre major, right?”

“Yes.” He nods. “And— I’m a double major, actually.”

“Oh, no way! Same here.” Quinn knows this about him, because Reid— along with the whole club board— said his major in his introduction at the year’s first meeting. “I’m theatre and history. What’s your second?”

“Chemistry.” Quinn smiles. “I’m pre-med.”

“Oh, God bless your intelligent soul,” he mutters, and Quinn laughs. “My best friend’s girlfriend is pre-med, and I don’t know how she does it.”

“It’s a great program.”

The door into the house creaks and then gives way, and Quinn’s stomach knots instinctively— but it’s not an auditioner; it’s Jhiron, the sound guy. Reid slaps his knees and shouts, “Well, speak of the fucking devil himself!”

Jhiron is a quiet giant, with square glasses, silver-cuffed dreadlocks, and a beanie. He’s a senior, and Quinn knows he runs sound for every show. “Man, fuck you, Reid,” he says, easily, like it means the same thing as _I love you, bro_. “I need your stupid track.”

“Yeah, I bet you do, bitch,” Reid replies, with a dastardly grin, as he scrolls through his phone and then tosses it to him. Jhiron does not catch it. “There you go.”

“I hope it broke,” Jhiron mutters, as he kneels to pick it up.

“Honestly, same,” Reid replies.

Jhiron turns it over, then says, “Fuck.”

“Still intact?” Reid asks.

“Unfortunately.” He picks up the phone, then looks to Quinn. “You’re not… Quinn, by any chance?”

Quinn squares his shoulders. “I am, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh. Nice.” Jhiron nods. “Got your email. You’re all good.”

“Thank you so much.” That’s a small relief.

Jhiron points Reid’s phone to him. “I hope you choke onstage.”

“Fucking _mood_ , honestly.” Reid waves as he retreats to the auditorium door. “Thanks, you stupid fuck!”

Jhiron flips him off over his shoulder. “You’re on in three.”

“Nice.” As the door closes behind him, Reid chuckles. “Live, love, Jhiron Hassan.”

Quinn has no idea what happened. “He’s… your best friend?”

“Oh, yeah. Since freshman year.” Reid leans back on the bench, stretching until something pops in his back, and he crumbles. “ _Ouch_! Motherfucker.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows. That sounded like it hurt. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Reid waves it off like it’s no big deal. “No big whoop.”

Quinn squints a little, then fixes his hair and takes a deep breath. The nearness of his audition time is dawning on him, suddenly, and he isn’t a fan of what it’s making him feel. So he distracts himself with more conversation. “What song are you singing?”

Reid grins from ear to ear. His ears are kind of big, come to think of it. “Repeat Stuff by Bo Burnham.” He cracks his knuckles. “I know it’s not from a musical, but they pretty much let me audition with meme shit every year. I sang the fish song from Little Mermaid sophomore year.”

“I _love_ the fish song,” Quinn replies, because he really does.

“Dude, same. I got to channel my inner psychopath.” Reid shrugs. “I can sing okay, but straight plays are more my wheelhouse. My favorite thing to do in a musical is be comic relief.”

“So…” Quinn doesn’t want to assume, but he is fiercely curious. “Jared?”

Reid’s big grin is back. He fist-bumps him again. “Bingo.”

Quinn smiles, too. “I love Jared,” he tells him. “His interjections are the best part of Sincerely, Me.”

“Oh, for sure,” Reid says. “That’s like half the reason I want to play him. But anyway.” He rests his hand on his chin. “Are _you_ auditioning for a particular role?”

“Oh, goodness, no.” Quinn shakes his head. “I’d just be honored to be in the show.”

“Nice, dude.” Reid’s nod looks approving, which is so, so validating. “What’re you singing?”

“Oh— um.” A torrent of self-consciousness hits him, out of nowhere, at this question. Maybe it’s only the stress of the looming actual audition, but the thought of telling Reid, the drama club president, what he’s singing— _especially_ after he _just_ got done saying he doesn’t have a role in mind— feels like it’d come off as cocky, and incredibly presumptuous. So he does something he never does— he stumbles over his response. “Well. It took some deciding. I thought I might do, uh, Loser Geek Whatever, from Be More Chill?” Reid nods a little. “Or even maybe Don’t Do Sadness from Spring Awakening. But, um—” _Gosh_ , he must sound stupid. “I thought about a lot of different things, and it was difficult to narrow it d—”

The house door opens again, and a voice from within saves Quinn’s soul from evaporating. “You’re up, reed instrument!” The previous girl comes bounding out— Allison, a sophomore, who always wears fun earrings. She looks in good spirits, as she holds the door open for Reid.

“Thanks!” He stands, then, to Quinn, waves and grins. “See you on the other side.”

“Good luck!” Quinn says, with significantly less cringe.

“Thanks,” he replies, sort of saluting at him, then brings his sheet to the door and walks through it. “Gee,” Quinn hears him call, as it’s closing, like he means for the people inside the house to hear him. “I sure hope Jhiron didn’t _fuck up my track_ —”

Allison and Ellie both laugh as the door closes on him. “How’d it go?” Ellie asks her.

Allison flashes two thumbs up. “Good, I think!”

“Yay!” Ellie says. “Congrats.”

“Thanks, Els!” Allison practically skips away, and then, over her shoulder, calls, “Now I just have to distract myself from losing my mind until Friday!”

Ellie laughs again.

Alone on the bench now, Quinn takes a deep, long breath. It occurs to him that he hasn’t filled out his sheet yet, so he takes to it fervently.

 **_Name:_ ** _Quinn Cooper_

 **_Email:_ ** [ _qcooper22@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:qcooper21@samwell.edu)

**_Year of Graduation:_ ** _2022_

 **_Phone:_ ** _616-507-0264_

 **_Voice Part:_ ** _Tenor_

 ** _Drama Club Member?:_** _Y_ _/ N_

“Hey, girlie,” he hears Ellie say, as he’s filling it out. She’s giving a sheet to Claire Deshaies, another junior, who’s also her best friend slash roommate. They’re two peas in a pod, in and out of club events.

“Thanks,” Claire says to Ellie, then she waves to him. “Hey, Quinn! Are you next?”

“I am,” Quinn replies. Claire is sweet; he’s talked to her in his classes a few times. She’s a theatre minor, and she always has something nice to say. “You’re after me, right?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “Are you ready?”

He shrugs, smiling back. “As I can be.”

**_Please describe any previous roles or theatre experience you have had (previous Kiersey productions, high school experience, community theatre, etc)._ **

_I participated in theatre during both the school year and the summer season in high school, with my school company and a community youth troupe, respectively. A few of my past productions are as follows:_

_\- Little Shop of Horrors, winter 2018 (Seymour)_

_\- Mary Poppins, winter 2017 (Bert)_

_\- Newsies, summer 2017 (Racetrack)_

_\- Into The Woods, winter 2016 (Jack)_

_I’ve also run costumes for a number of productions, including Seussical and West Side Story._

His phone buzzes, inside his peacoat, which reminds him that he shouldn’t be wearing a jacket when he goes in to audition. He takes it off and checks the text.

_iMessage_

_Wednesday, 1/16/19_

_4:40 PM_

_Sebastián♥️: good luck baby!!! i’m thinking of you!!_

_Sebastián♥️: you’ll do great!!❤️❤️❤️_

_You loved a message_

_You: Thank you so much!_

_You: 🥰🥰🥰_

_You: I’ll text when I’m out!_

**_If not cast, would you be interested in tech?_ **

_Yes. I would be glad to help with wardrobe should you feel I’d be most helpful there._

**_Do you anticipate any schedule conflicts this winter/spring? If so, please list them here. Examples include other clubs/sports teams, academic concerns, plans for major trips away from campus, etc._ **

_No, I don’t have any conflicts._

**_Is there anything else you’d like to share?_ **

He’s reading over his own answers when the auditorium door gives, and he jumps. “You’re up, frosh,” says a grinning Reid. It feels like his audition went by in about two minutes flat.

He stands, takes a deep breath, and walks to the door. He can do this. He isn’t nervous.

“Good luck, Quinn!” calls Claire.

“Thank you,” he says over his shoulder, then meets Reid in the door.

Reid gives him a pat on the back. “Knock em’ dead, dude.”

Quinn smiles at him. “Thanks, Reid.” If he walks away with nothing else from this audition process, he thinks he just made a friendship with the drama club president.

But _goodness_ , does he want a part, too.

Reid walks away, and he looks down at his sheet.

He stands up tall, closes the door behind him, and walks into the auditorium.

“Quinn Cooper?” says Dr. C, who’s sitting with the other production staff in the otherwise-empty house. They each hold clipboards, and they decide his fate.

“Yes,” he says, from the stairs up to the stage, and then, _finally_ , he’s no longer stressed.

*

_Group Message_

_4:45 PM_

_Ben Shaley changed the group name to ‘q hype squad’_

_Ben Shaley: own that fuckin audition bro_

_Remy Tremblay: ^^^^^_

_Remy Tremblay: good luck! :)_

*

_iMessage_

_4:56 PM_

_You: I’m finished!_

_Sebastián♥️: how did it go???_

_You: I’m not sure! Good, I hope?_

_You: It was just a lot of muscle memory once I got going._

_You: With any luck, I could get ensemble!_

_Sebastián♥️: i’m so happy it went well❤️❤️_

_Sebastián♥️: i was sending you good luck vibes_

_You: Thank you💙💙!_

_You: You’re so sweet🥰_

*

_iMessage_

_4:57 PM_

_You: Finished_

_Maggie Atkins: details?_

_You: I think it was okay?_

_You: They also tested my range…_

_You: Not my best audition but probably not my worst._

_You: I low key blacked out and just sang on instinct which… is hopefully a good thing_

_Maggie Atkins laughed at a message_

_Maggie Atkins: hell yea_

_Maggie Atkins: now we wait…_

*

_q hype squad_

_4:58 PM_

_You: Thanks, guys!😊 I’m all done!_

*

_Wednesday 1/16/19, 7:51 PM_

_FROM:_ [ _jcaraway@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:jcaraway@samwell.edu)

_TO: 38 Recipients_

_CC:_ [ _dramaclub@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:dramaclub@samwell.edu) _;_ [ _eoreilly21@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:eoconnor20@samwell.edu)

_SUBJECT: Auditions complete!_

_Dear Students,_

_On behalf of myself and the Drama Club, I want to thank you all so much for auditioning for our spring musical,_ Dear Evan Hansen. _We’ve now wrapped on two days of fantastic initial auditions, and many of you demonstrated great promise._

_The next step in the audition process is callback day. We’ve now contacted everyone we’d like to have for a callback on Thursday afternoon. Check your email to see if you’re among those recipients— and to the rest of you, remember, no callback doesn’t equal no part!_

_The final cast list will be posted Friday at 9:00 AM on the bulletin board outside Beckett 1C. Best of luck!_

_Sincerely,_

_Me (A.K.A. Dr. C)_

_Jen Caraway, PhD_

_Professor of Fine Arts — Theatre_

_Kiersey Drama Club, Faculty Chair_

*

_iMessage_

_7:52 PM_

_Maggie Atkins: I GOT A CALLBACK_

_Maggie Atkins: AAAAAAAAA_

_You sent a GIF_

_Maggie Atkins: IM FREAKING OUT_

_Maggie Atkins: did you get one?_

_You: I don’t think so… I have no email._

_You: Can you see who else got called back?_

_Maggie Atkins: no it’s a BCC lol_

_Maggie Atkins: im losing my shit_

_You loved a message_

_You: Congrats!_

_You: That’s so stressful/exciting!_

_Maggie Atkins: don’t you worry!_

_Maggie Atkins: no callback ≠ no part_

_You: Oh, I know. I’m not worried!😊_

*

_January 17th, 2019_

He’s not stressed about not getting called back.

Really, he isn’t. In fact, it helps him draw his conclusion, that being: he didn’t get cast. And that’s okay. The sooner he knows, the sooner he can get over it. And besides, this is what he expected.

He’ll go to Ellie as soon as the cast list is finalized, he decides. He’ll offer up his costuming help. After all, the wardrobe director knows him; he helped with costumes on the fall production.

The alternative option is that he got ensemble. Which would be great. It would be very good. But he won’t get his hopes up about being able to be onstage.

By his History of Theatre class on Thursday, midmorning, he’s barely thinking about it; he’s moved on to other concerns, like whether they’ll let him get away with hand-sewing Evan’s famous blue polo. It’ll be Spencer, he thinks— or at least that’s what he heard Kelsie say to Allison in the Beckett lobby this morning. Of course, she and Spencer are dating, but she’s also really close with Dr. C, so Quinn figures she has at least _some_ intel. Spencer is tall, so he’s probably a medium. Quinn has to get his hands on the right fabric. He should stage a mission to the nearest Joann Fabrics, his ancestral haven.

He’s completely fine— until, right before class, Daniel Cho sits down next to him in Beckett 1A.

“Hey, Quinn.” Daniel isn’t a theatre major, but he’s taking his class as an art elective because he’s a second-semester senior. Quinn likes him. He has middle-aged dad energy, in a twenty-two year old body. “What’s up?”

“Not too much,” he replies, looking up at him. “I’m very hungry. I think I’ll regret that I signed up for an 11:30 this semester.”

Daniel grins. “Just bring lunch!”

“Oh.” He pauses. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’s some senior wisdom for you.” He pulls what Quinn recognizes as a to-go wrapped sandwich from the dining hall out of his backpack, then, as he’s unwrapping it, looks his way again. “You… auditioned for the musical, right?”

“I did,” he replies with a nod. “You did as well, correct?”

Daniel nods back. He looks sort of unsettled. “Did you— I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, did you… get a callback?”

For some reason, Quinn’s knotted stomach resurfaces. “No,” he says. “Um— no, as in, I don’t mind you asking, and also as in I didn’t get a callback.”

“Agh.” Daniel grimaces. “Yeah, me neither.”

He looks upset, so Quinn, despite his own deep-seeded relation to that sentiment, says, “No callback doesn’t automatically mean no part.”

“Oh, I know.” Daniel flashes this bittersweet, forced smile. “I just… I dunno. I know it sounds stupid, but I really want to get a part. Like, I’m graduating, so this is definitely the last time I’ll ever do theatre, and I just…”

It’s a really sad thing to hear. “Of course,” Quinn says, an attempt at consolation. “I can imagine you’d hate to miss out.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Daniel sighs a little, looking down at his sandwich. It’s a BLT, and it smells good. Quinn is _really_ hungry. “I dunno. I know there’s nothing I can do now. And, like…” He lowers his voice a little, looking around, and then mutters, “If I have to lose out on a part to someone like _Spencer_ …”

Quinn winces. Spencer does really seem like an unsavory person, though he’s had little personal interaction with him. “Did you audition for a specific part?”

“No.” Daniel looks around again. “But I’m not, like— I know I’m not getting, like, _Evan_ or something. I think I just want a speaking part. Y’know?”

“I really hope you _will_ get a part,” Quinn tells him, and means it. He’d rather see a Daniel Evan than Spencer, by a longshot. And he sort of knows how he feels— just last year, he was a senior, fretting over his last high school show. For Daniel, this is his last _ever_ show.

He can’t imagine.

Daniel smiles. “Thanks, Quinn,” he says, picking up his BLT. “I hope you get one, too.”

He won’t. He knows as much. But he smiles and thanks him anyway.

*

_iMessage_

_Thursday, 1/17/19_

_8:30 PM_

_Maggie Atkins: you want the callback tea_

_You loved a message_

_You: Obviously_

_You: Who was there?_

_Maggie Atkins: okay so_

_Maggie Atkins: - me_

_\- allison h_

_\- finn from directing last sem_

_\- claire_

_\- spencer & kelsie _

_\- cole kolinsky_

_\- some girl erica idk her_

_You: Interesting…_

_Maggie Atkins: basically it was a bunch of reading_

_Maggie Atkins: i read for evans mom, connors mom, and alana_

_Maggie Atkins: i think claire is for sure zoe_

_You: Oh, she’s so sweet!_

_Maggie Atkins: yes it fits GREAT_

_Maggie Atkins: uhhh what else_

_Maggie Atkins: spencer was reading for evan_

_You: Figured that…_

_Maggie Atkins: god i fucking hate him lmaooo_

_You laughed at a message_

_Maggie Atkins: he’s just really obnoxious and passive aggressive_

_You: Kelsie too_

_Maggie Atkins emphasized a message_

_Maggie Atkins: truuuu_

_Maggie Atkins: like lmaooo_

_Maggie Atkins: they had me do does anybody have a map w/ allison_

_Maggie Atkins: and_

_Maggie Atkins: spencer told me i was flat_

_You: ARE YOU JOKING_

_You: Oh my goshhhhh_

_You: He’s such a JERK_

_Maggie Atkins: ikr but lol whatever_

_Maggie Atkins: i’m pretty sure i was fine_

_You: He’s not worth it. Don’t listen to him_

_Maggie Atkins: i won’t, trust me_

_Maggie Atkins: i’m SO nervous to see the cast list now_

_You: Yeah!_

_Maggie Atkins: are you?_

_You: Not really… I’m already in the acceptance phase._

_Maggie Atkins: hey you never know!_

_You: That’s true._

_You: I just never get my hopes too high._

_Maggie Atkins: very wise_

_Maggie Atkins: me im freaking out LMAO_

_You: Please don’t die of cardiac arrest before you even see the cast list._

_Maggie Atkins laughed at a message_

*

In bed that night, Sebastián says, “What time does the cast list get sent out tomorrow?”

Quinn tips his head to look up at him. He’s snuggled comfortably in his lap, wrapped up in 200+ pounds of big, handsome boyfriend, and it is the _life_. His audition despair is non-existent— or was, until Sebastián posed this question.

“Nine,” he sighs, then rests his head on his shoulder. “It gets posted, not sent out. I suppose I’ll go see it after my morning classes.”

“You… don’t sound that excited,” Sebastián observes.

“Oh, honey, I am.” He tries to smile, kissing his shoulder, and says, “I just know I won’t be on the list, and I’m okay with that.”

“Wait, baby…” Sebastián rubs the back of his neck. “You don’t know that.”

“It’s the natural conclusion,” he replies, because it is. “And I’m completely at peace with it. I’ll just do costumes this year.”

“Baby.” There’s a frown in Sebastián’s voice. “You don’t know anything for sure yet. You could’ve gotten a part. You’re so talented.”

He’s the sweetest, most kindhearted boy. “It just works differently in theatre.”

Sebastián sort of groans, a sympathetic, sad noise, and gives him a good, big squeeze. Quinn lets himself be manhandled, and feels him press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Sebastián asks, in a soft voice, rocking him a little in his arms.

Quinn waits a moment while deliberating this. On the one hand, he wants a part so badly. On the other, he isn’t getting one. And on the third hand (this is getting out of hand)... the cast list isn’t even final yet.

“I might,” he tells him. “But… not tonight. I want to see the list first.”

“Of course.” Sebastián nods. “That makes sense. Just— baby?”

It sounds like something is important. Quinn looks up. Lit by the fairy lights in his room, he’s soft and bright eyed and so, so lovely. “Yes?”

“I’m here for you,” he says.

Quinn smiles, and presses a grateful kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, honey,” he says. “You’ve been really lovely throughout this whole process, and I appreciate it very much.”

“Of course,” Sebastián says. “Always.”

 _Always._ Quinn kisses him.

He likes the sound of that.

When they’re settling in for bedtime, not long after that, Sebastián lays down on his side and pulls him close. “Hey,” he whispers, in the dark. “By the way.”

Quinn nods for him to continue, and he says, “I’m still coming to see the show even if you’re backstage instead of on it.”

Quinn has no idea what he did right to deserve him. “Thank you,” he whispers back. “That means more than you know.”

Sebastián is grinning. “But,” he adds. “I know you’ll be onstage.”

“ _Sebastián_.”

“Niiiiight, baby.”

Quinn switches his hearing aids off.

*

_January 18th, 2019_

_iMessage_

_Friday, 1/18/19_

_5:59 AM_

_Maggie Atkins: happy casting day!!!_

_7:04 AM_

_You: Why did you get up so early?_

_Maggie Atkins: morning workout!_

_Maggie Atkins: gotta stay on the grind!_

_You disliked a message_

_You: Ew, exercise._

8:11 AM

_Maggie Atkins: what time are you going to beck?_

_You: Around 12… I have classes until then._

_Maggie Atkins: ooo okay_

_Maggie Atkins: do you want me to wait for you?_

_You: Oh my gosh, no, but thank you!_

_Maggie Atkins: want a pic of it when i go?_

_You: I think I’d rather wait to see myself._

_Maggie Atkins: completely understandable_

_Maggie Atkins: this is a cast spoiler free zone_

_You: Lol!_

9:10 AM

_Maggie Atkins: HEY_

_Maggie Atkins: GO SEE THE LIST ASAP_

*

_iMessage_

_9:31 AM_

_Claire Deshaies: Hey Quinn!! Have you seen the cast list yet?_

*

_iMessage_

_9:46 AM_

_Ellie O'Reilly: hey quinn its ellie!_

_Ellie O'Reilly: the cast list is up and you should go see :)_

*

_iMessage_

_10:13 AM_

_Maggie Atkins: QUINN_

*

_Text Message_

_10:40 AM_

_Daniel Cho: Bro! Cast list up!_

_Daniel Cho: Worth a look, trust me! ASAP_

*

_iMessage_

_11:00 AM_

_Maggie Atkins: QUINN_

_Maggie Atkins: MICHAEL_

_Maggie Atkins: COOPER_

*

_iMessage_

_11:36 AM_

_You: Are you busy now?_

_Sebastián♥️: no im just in my room!_

_Sebastián♥️: lunch???_

_You: We can get food after, but people have been texting me all morning to go see the cast list… I think I may have gotten a part._

_Sebastián♥️ emphasized a message_

_You: But truth be told, I’m nervous…_

_You: I was wondering if you’d come with me._

_Sebastián♥️: yes! of course i will!_

_Sebastián♥️: actually maggie was texting me earlier and telling me to harass you to go look so_

_Sebastián♥️: 😂😂😂_

_Sebastián♥️: where can i meet you?_

*

He stands on the sidewalk outside Beckett. It’s sunny out today, oddly enough— bright despite a very chilly wind, the sun not nearly warm enough to melt any of the icy snow on the ground. He waits trying to soak up any ounce of its warmth for about five minutes, until he sees a huge figure in Kiersey Hockey blue and a homemade red scarf come barreling from the direction of Wilson Hall. He’s holding his winter hat on his head so it won’t fly off, and he comes to a skidding stop on the slushy sidewalk in front of him.

“Okay!” Sebastián cries. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Quinn replies, because a mere door and a few brief paces separate him from finding out what’s on that list, and he has to be ready. He’s shaking, but he hopes it’s only because it’s cold out here. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome!” Sebastián grabs his hand. He’s warm, and it’s grounding. “I’m excited.”

Quinn takes a deep breath of cold air. “Me, too,” he tells him. His heart is pounding.

He’s never been this nervous for a casting.

It’s warm inside, thank goodness, but his shivers don’t go away. Kelsie is sitting on one of the benches, on her phone, but she doesn’t say anything as he and Sebastián round the corner, which is honestly a relief.

“There it is,” Quinn says, catching sight of the board, with its fresh lone sheet of white paper having replaced the audition sign-up pages. He’s embarrassed of how nervous he sounds.

“Okay,” says Sebastián, then he leans down and gives him a little kiss. “I’ll stand here,” he says. HIs voice is steady. “Go and look,” he urges, and it’s all that’s left to do.

Quinn nods. He squeezes his hand once before he lets go of it. “Okay,” he replies, and then walks toward the board.

One foot after the other.

When he’s close enough to read it, he sees Maggie’s name first. She’s Alana! He’s so happy for her.

Then he looks the list up and down.

His eyes land on his name.

His stomach flips over.

He does a double take.

_Evan Hansen: Quinn Cooper_

His heart is pounding for a _very_ different reason, now.

“Baby?” It’s Sebastián, a few yards or so behind him, who pulls him out of this trance. “You okay?”

“I…” He reads it again, very slowly, and whispers, in semi-disbelief, “I got the lead.”

_Aaaaaahhhhh!_

He looks over his shoulder to Sebastián and cries, “I got the lead!”

“ _Baby_ !” Sebastián gives way to a _gigantic_ smile, and he matches his volume. “You did?!?”

He can’t believe it. “I did!” he cries, and it occurs to him just then that he might fall over if he tries to keep standing by himself, but— but Sebastián is a hockey boy at heart, and the next thing Quinn knows, he’s running to meet him and scooping him into his arms for what could only be described as what he and the boys would call a full celly.

“ _Yes_!!!” he shouts, as he spins Quinn around in his arms. Quinn laughs and holds on tight. “Baby, holy shit! I’m so proud of you!”

“I can’t believe it,” he cries, and he can’t. “I never thought—”

“ _Congratulations_ ,” Sebastián cries, once the spin is over, and he pulls back a little so they can meet eyes. “Jeez, baby, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he breathes. He thinks he might be tearing up. His heart beats out of his chest, and he’s dazed and lightheaded and so, so _happy_ —

He kisses Sebastián, right there in the lobby, and holds his head in both hands as he kisses back. It’s the first of a few of them, and they only pull away because Quinn has to laugh again.

“I _knew_ it,” Sebastián takes the opportunity to say. “I knew you could do it. I didn’t doubt you one bit, the whole time.”

“Thank you so much, Sebastián.” He presses his forehead to his and lets off a shaky exhale. “I— I can’t even believe it. I’m—”

Sebastián kisses him again. He’s not sure he’s ever had so much that he wants all at once, his whole life.

He has the _most_ supportive boyfriend, and he’s at a wonderful school. And he’s going to _play Evan Hansen_ —

When Sebastián puts him down, he roots himself on his own feet, which is difficult, actually. “Come with me,” he says, grabbing his hand to pull him over to the board. “I want to look at the list again.”

“Okay.” Sebastián follows, then wraps an arm around his waist as they stand at the board. “There you are,” he cries, pointing to his name at the top of the list. “That’s my baby!”

Quinn is so happy, he thinks he might burst.

Maggie was right; Claire is Zoe. And Reid got Jared, and— _oh_! Daniel got Connor’s dad! Thank goodness; he’s in the cast. They’ll sing together, Quinn realizes. He’ll sing with all of them.

This is _beyond_ a dream come true.

He takes a picture of the list, for safekeeping, and as he’s putting his phone away, the door to Beckett 1C opens. A boy with a guitar case, whistling to himself, swings some jingling keys on a lanyard as he walks out. He has round glasses and a tiny ponytail in his light-brown hair, and Quinn knows him from drama club meetings, but doesn’t know his name.

“Oh, hey,” he says, as he catches sight of him, like _he_ knows _him_. “You’re Quinn, right?”

Quinn nods, and Sebastián lets go of him as the guy rushes over to meet him by the board. “I am!”

The guy shakes his hand, with this huge, friendly smile. “I’m Connor,” he says, and then immediately backtracks, shaking his head. “Well— actually, I’m Cole. But I’ll be _playing_ Connor.”

“ _Oh_!” Cole Kolinsky! One of the only unfamiliar names on the list. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You, too!” Cole replies, letting go of his hand. “I heard your audition was _awesome_.”

“Oh?” Quinn pauses. The only people in the house were Dr. C and her faculty production staff. “Who saw my audition?”

Cole shrugs, adjusting his guitar case strap around his back. “I guess Jhiron— you know, the sound guy? He saw all the auditions from the booth. And he told Reid you kicked ass when he found out you got the part, and I was talking to Reid this morning, because he was like, _dude! We get to sing Sincerely, Me together!_ And he said Jhiron said you were good, and, well, anyway.” Cole takes a big breath, then says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to randomly spring myself on you.”

“Oh, my goodness, no, don’t be sorry,” Quinn replies. He steps back and gestures to Sebastián. “This is my boyfriend, Sebastián. He came with me for moral support.”

Cole laughs, and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you!”

“You, too,” Sebastián says, and adds, “Congrats on your part!”

“Thanks so much,” Cole replies, with this huge grin. “Well— I’ve gotta go, ‘cause I’m late for, like, five different things, but I’m really glad we got to meet before the read-through! I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“I guess we will!” Quinn smiles back. “It was really nice to meet you, Cole.”

“Same here!” Cole turns to go, then adds, “I’ll start working on my autograph.” He mimes writing on his arm.

“ _Oh_ ,” Quinn laughs, and it’s like learning he got the part all over again. “For my cast.”

“Yeah!” Cole grins. He waves as he goes. “See you soon! Have a good weekend.”

“You as well!”

When Cole is gone, Sebastián wraps him in another hug, asking, “What do you mean, your cast?”

“Oh… my character— he breaks his arm.” It is _beyond_ surreal to refer to Evan Hansen as ‘his character’. “And Cole’s character signs my cast.”

He’ll have to get used to it, he realizes gleefully.

Sebastián chuckles quietly, with this funny little smile on his face as he pulls away to meet his eyes. “Ha,” he says. “I guess you really did get ‘cast’ then, huh?”

Quinn swats him in the chest. “ _Sebastián_!”

Sebastián laughs at the ceiling, then kisses him again. Quinn rises on tiptoe. It is a beautiful thing.

Today is going to be a good day, and _here_ is why.

“I think this _definitely_ warrants me taking you out to lunch,” Sebastián says, when they pull away. “And not the dining hall. Let's go downtown."

“Ooh.” Quinn swoons. “Are you trying to charm me, Sebastián?”

“Maybe so.” He holds his elbow out for him to take, because he is a proper gentleman. “C’mon, Evan. You’re a star now.”

Quinn laughs, winds his arm in his elbow, and steps out into the sun.

*

_q hype squad_

_12:23 PM_

_You sent a picture_

_You: I got the lead!!!!!!!!!!_

_Sebastián♥️ loved a picture_

_Ben Shaley emphasized a picture_

_Sebastián♥️: tahts my baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Ben Shaley: Q!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCKING_

_Ben Shaley: GAY RIGHTS!!!!!!!! CONGRATS!!!!!!_

_Remy Tremblay liked a picture_

_Remy Tremblay: dude holy shit!!! congratulations!_

_Ben Shaley:🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🍾🍾🍾🍾_

_Remy Tremblay: that’s amazing!_

_You: Thank you both so much!_

_Ben Shaley: THIS CALLS FOR A PARTY_

_Ben Shaley: im texting teegs_

_Sebastián♥️ liked a message_

_Ben Shaley: we are getting DRUNK tonight_

_Remy Tremblay laughed at a message_

_You: Oh dear._

*

_DEAR EVAN HANSEN_

_Cast & Crew List _

_Evan Hansen: Quinn Cooper_

_Connor Murphy: Cole Kolinsky_

_Zoe Murphy: Claire Deshaies_

_Heidi Hansen: Allison Halterman_

_Larry Murphy: Daniel Cho_

_Jared Kleinman: Reid Burke_

_Cynthia Murphy: Kelsie Wilkes_

_Alana Beck: Maggie Atkins_

_U/S Evan: Spencer Bergen_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! [Come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, where my ask box is always open for cricket things or anything else your heart desires to ask/send/tell me.


End file.
